Their Story
by akmdreamer
Summary: 'Their story filled the damp July night with the warmth and giddy exploration of the months they had spent, the days they had dragged out, the moments they had relished, all leading up to this and to everything that would come after.' Kurt and Blaine discovering each other and exploring their friendship and the romance that evolved from it. Not entirely canon, not entirely not.


**Disclaimer: I thought about using Starkid's song, 'We Don't Wanna Be Sued', but I'm pretty sure that then I'd have to disclaim THAT. Anyway, you get the general idea: I don't own, no copyright infringement is intended, blah blah blah. And for God's sake, I really don't wanna be sued. :p**

**Author's Note: I'm actually working on a Klaine chapter story right now called 'Crossing the Fine Lines'. It's inspired by the whole Badboy!Blaine craze, but is actually quite different from anything I've ever read along those lines. It will be around fifteen chapters long, and I've currently got the first four done and the plot outlined. I'll begin posting that once I've gotten at least six or seven chapters done, so you can keep an eye out for that. I hope you'll decide to check it out! I'm quite proud of it, though it is very different to my usual style of writing. Anyway, this little probably-not-entirely-canon plot bunny came to me a few days ago bouncing around high off diet coke and wearing bright pink sunglasses, and really, who can ignore that for long? ;) **

**R&R Enjoy! **

**xCMELx**

* * *

Blaine was different from any boy Kurt had ever met. He had layers, layers of emotion in his eyes, of personality boiling just under his skin, of complexities and quirks and intrigue that made Kurt want to unravel him slowly and discover every bit of the Warbler.

There was an odd balance of consistency and unpredictability that drew Kurt ever-closer. Certain things about Blaine always remained the same: His coffee order, the calm, unruffled air he projected, the helping hand and patient ear and shoulder to lean on, to cry on sometimes.

And then there were the things that were always changing, always surprising Kurt in the best ways possible. Like that time when the words, "C'mon, I'll buy you lunch," seemed like they'd never be enough, and somehow Blaine had erased the past few years of Kurt's life with an easy, playful smile, a hand around his, and a stupid, silly idea.

"Let's go exploring!"

Suddenly, Blaine was five and presented with an old, creaky house that was his to discover, except he wasn't. He was seventeen, with his new, hurting, struggling friend and a dark green Prius and an hour for lunch. Suddenly, Kurt wasn't thinking about Karofsky, or his first kiss-that-counted, or the dark, empty ache that had opened like an old wound in his chest over the course of the day. Instead, he was laughing and singing loudly to the Grease soundtrack with the windows rolled down and a handsome boy with glowing honey-jade eyes squinted in the midday sun and one arm curved out the window to clutch at the roof while the other hand gripped the steering wheel. He was a teenage boy with a crush that ached in the best possible way, that bubbled in his throat and crackled on his skin like static electricity on a humid, stormy, summer night.

They drove and drove and finally pulled into a little diner that served greasy burgers and floppy fries but had awesome malted milkshakes. Blaine got Kurt to share a piece of rich chocolate cake with him after their meal, and for once, Kurt didn't bother to complain about what it would do to his skin. Instead he enjoyed sitting across from the boy in a Dalton uniform with a pair of ridiculous bright pink sunglasses perched on his head of gelled-to-death curls.

Their friendship strengthened, intensified, and they explored each other. Kurt learned that Blaine's mother was a beautiful little Filipino woman who adored her children and doted on everyone to walk through her door; he learned that Blaine's little sister worshiped the ground Blaine walked on and could out-talk Rachel Berry any day; he learned that Blaine's big brother, Cooper, was a sore spot, and that their father wasn't a bad person, but he wasn't Burt Hummel either. But the most important things that Kurt learned about Blaine were how he loved Disney, but would never talk about such things at Dalton, how he knew every line of _It's a Wonderful Life_, and how much he adored '40s and '50s films. How he had taken piano lessons but taught himself the guitar with a little help from Cooper, and how much he loved both. How he wrote music and lyrics, and how much better Kurt thought Blaine sounded when he sang sitting in the Anderson's spacious back yard one abnormally warm November day, his voice raw with laughter and emotion and the depth and thought and _everything-ness_ of the song. The song he'd written during _That Time_ in his life, the one that had come spilling out of him one night in the darkness of Kurt's car, two teenage boys curled up in the backseat with tears making sticky tracks on their cheeks and the whisper of shifting fabric as their breathing evened out and they leaned against each other, holding and connecting in a way that was more intimate than the deepest kiss, the most intense sex, the most romantic moment.

Blaine knew Kurt better than he had ever allowed anybody to know him; he had unwittingly allowed his walls to weaken the day they had met, and it was only a matter of time before they crumbled completely.

Perhaps the thing Kurt appreciated the most about having such a friend - and not a best friend in the sense that Mercedes and Rachel were his best friends, but in a different category completely - was the details. The little moments that made them both smile. The times when Blaine's ever-changing eyes darkened to a deep, honey brown as he and Kurt suppressed laughter at their own little joke in their own little world surrounded by people who wouldn't understand; those times when they blurted out their coffee orders at the same time to a bemused barista and shared a chuckle and a soft glance before verbally wrestling over whose turn it was to pay; those times when they could look at each other and have an entire conversation with just a few facial expressions and understand each other perfectly.

Their story was truly becoming _theirs_. Separate, they were strong, but together they were truly a force to be reckoned with. Their story was told in simple texts and coffee shops and handwritten sheet music. In shared chocolate malted milkshakes and blue-penned scribbles and drawings on napkins in bad diners. In Medium Drips with cinnamon that swirled and collected at the bottom to be swiped up by the pad of a guitar-calloused finger and Grande Nonfat Mochas drank so slowly they turned cool before the cup was halfway empty. In the way that Blaine smelled, like cinnamon gum and rainy days, and the way Kurt smelled, like clean fabric and coffee grounds, and the way they smelled together, once again wrapped around each other in the back of a car, this time with flighty, tentative fingers wrapped in shirts and hair, with moist, chapped lips turned cherry red with fervent kisses, discovering each other in pants of breath and whispers and giggles.

Their story filled the damp July night with the warmth and giddy exploration of the months they had spent, the days they had dragged out, the moments they had relished, all leading up to this and to everything that would come after.

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**Author's Note: So I wrote this in maybe twenty minutes after having it lurking in the darkest reaches of my strange, strange brain for the past few weeks. It didn't really turn out how I thought it would - it evolved into a whole lot more - but I'm pretty pleased with it and would love to know what you think!**

**xCMELx**


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